


smoke.

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel
Genre: Abuse, Burns, Cigarettes, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Power Dynamics, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 17:12:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15077888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: They don't have cigarettes on Asgard. The Grandmaster's willing to make up for it.





	smoke.

_Insanity_ , some pithy sign had read years back, upon Midgard,  _is the act of doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting a different result._

“Got a light, honey?” the Grandmaster asks softly, and Loki nods his head, glancing up from his book and leaning forward. He snaps his fingers underneath the lilac head of the cigarillo, and it sparks into ignition, glowing softly yellow in the warm light of the ballroom. He watches in fascination as the Grandmaster brings the base of the cigarillo to his lips, parting them about it and taking a slow, easy drag.

Then, he leans forward and  _blows_  against Loki’s mouth, and Loki inhales it, tasting its strange, mushroom sweetness on his tongue. Then he exhales, watching the yellow smoke fade easily onto the air. 

“You, uh, you don’t smoke much, huh?” the Grandmaster asks, and Loki shakes his head. “How come?”

“It’s not done on my home planet,” Loki says simply. “I never saw a cigarette until I was eight hundred, nine hundred years old, and even pipes were rare.”

“Huh,” the Grandmaster murmurs. “Hold out your, uh, put your palm out for me, honey. I got something for ya.” Loki obeys without thinking, setting out his right hand, the palm facing the ceiling - and he ought have expected it, ought have  _known_ , but the flaming head of the cigarillo burns hot against his hand and he cries out in pain, jolting but not daring to wrench his hand away. It leaves a perfectly circular burn on the pale skin,  _sizzling_ , and Loki stares at the Grandmaster, too shocked, too surprised, to be angry.

“What was that for?” he demands.

“You’ve, uh, you’ve never felt that before, right?” the Grandmaster asks in a purr. “Now you have.” He smiles, showing all his teeth, and Loki cannot stand the burning pain in his palm, that  _sings_  off the skin. “Shame that, uh, I’ve gone out though. You got a light, honey?”

Loki hesitates, for the longest moment, and then, slowly, painfully - like an insane man, because that’s what he is - he snaps his fingers beneath the head of the cigarillo, and ignites its end once more. The Grandmaster takes a drag, and blows it back into his mouth.

Loki closes the distance between them, catches him in a kiss, hoping it will be enough to distract him.

It isn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


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